


Winchester Vacation

by Ephermeralk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom!Sam, Folsom Prison Blues setting, Humilation, M/M, Public Sex, dub-con, voyerism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:26:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephermeralk/pseuds/Ephermeralk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean makes Sam his prison bitch; better his than anyone else's. Right, Sam?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winchester Vacation

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Comment fic for [](http://sleepypercy.livejournal.com/profile)[**sleepypercy**](http://sleepypercy.livejournal.com/) who wanted porn instead of drunk questions. Go figure. She also wanted Dean making Sam his prison bitch. It got way longer than under 500 words. Oops. Summary snagged from [](http://kalliel.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://kalliel.livejournal.com/)**kalliel** as I couldn't be bothered at 2AM.

There are things about the place that Dean doesn’t mind. Like wearing the standard-issue bright orange jump suit. Rec time out in the yard. Hustling poker for cigarettes. What he _does_ mind, however, is that Sam wasn’t placed in his cell. Dean might be cut out for this life. But Sam? He’s hardly more than a year out of Stanford. He still wears white flowery button downs and purple greyhound tee-shirts. Sam might be taller, bulkier. But he’s definitely not prison material. And they both know it. Even if Sam’s been refusing to admit it since they arrived.

“Sam,” Dean says in a hushed whisper. “You gotta stop smiling man. It’s giving the wrong impression.”

“Active listening ringing any bells? I’m following along with the guys' stories. You never know who might be a lead later on.”

“This isn’t the goddamn Zimbardo project. It’s prison. That means no smiling unless you want to fight or fuck.”

“Yeah, alright.”

Sam doesn’t listen though. Obstinate as always. Sometimes, it’s all Dean can do to keep from murdering his little brother.

\--

Three guys ask him about Sam before lunch rolls around.

“He’s taken,” Dean says roughly. To his knowledge, no one besides himself and Jessica has ever had Sam. And Dean doesn’t plan on letting that change anytime soon. Sharing Sam with a memory is hard enough.

“Not until we see proof of that claim,” Tiny responds. He’s so big that Dean’s sure even Sam would look small underneath him. Dean swears on his momma’s white nightgown he won’t let that happen.

\--

At dinner, Sam tells Dean that he got offered two of the best jobs on the work crews, five packs of cigarettes, and two dessert cookies.

Dean shakes his head. “You accepted all of that?”

“Of course. Sorry I’m more popular here than you, big brother. Hard to share the spotlight for once, huh?”

“All they want is to fuck your pretty pink ass, Sammy. Hold on to that nice head of hair you’ve got going at the moment. Maybe even pretend you’re their girlfriend back at home.”

“Not everything is about sex, you know.”

“This is.”

Sam is as Sam does, however. He throws the rest of his dinner in the trash, gives Dean bitch-face #23, and heads back to his cell until the guards call 'lights out'.

 

Dean paces all night without Sam's even breathing and a bottle of Jack to lull him to sleep.

\--

It’s not until the next morning that Dean sees a chance. Sam might not like it, but no one else is going to lay a damn hand on his brother. Not while Dean’s heart is still beating.

Sam’s underneath the shower-spray when Dean arrives in the communal bathroom. Eyes closed, water dripping down his collar bones. His biceps. His six-pack abs and his prominent quadriceps. Even more alluring—cascading down his shoulder blades and off his perky, firm ass.

Dean raises his eyebrows, challenging anyone in the room.

They all take a step back. That’s right. Dean Winchester is in the house.

In a split second he’s behind Sam. Covering his brother’s mouth as Sam tries to scream.

“Shhhh,” he says quietly into Sam’s ear. “Hush little brother. I got you. But me and you—we have to show these boys here who you belong to, okay?”

Sam moans from behind his hand as Dean rocks his hips against Sam’s ass. He’s getting hard already, just by a little friction. And the fact that all the guys in the room are watching him; they’re going to get a show. Going to see exactly _why_ Sam will never belong to them.

“Now, will you be quiet and do what I say if I let you go?”

Sam nods.

“Good. Hands on the tile wall. Ass out.”

Sam positions himself appropriately and Dean rewards him by using a liberal amount of conditioner on his fingers before pushing inside. It’s been awhile and Sam’s tight. Luckily, he loosens up once Dean finds his prostate.

“That’s right. Give it up for me, baby.”

There’s a few chuckles from the audience and Dean turns around to smirk at them.

“Y’all see Sam here? He’s mine. And his ass is mine. So if _any_ of you were thinking otherwise… well, I’m not so nice when people take what’s mine. They usually end up…dead.”

Silence.

He takes his dick, which he notes is larger than anyone’s in the room aside from his little brother’s and rubs the head against Sam’s hole. It feels good having Sam moan, press back against him, but this isn’t about pleasure. It’s about Dean showing everyone, Sam included, that he’s Dean’s bitch.

“Alright, alright. You’re just begging for it, aren’t you?” he asks, just barely pushing inside of Sam.

“Yeah, Dean, please.”

“Please what, Sammy. Use your big boy words now.”

“Fuck me Dean. Make me your bitch. I don’t care. Just fuck me.”

“Well, if you insist.”

From out in the crowd, cries of “fuck him,” ring out. And what can Dean say. He’s always been one for putting on a show.

He thrusts inside Sam in one long push. Then he grabs on to Sam’s hips, gripping hard against his wet skin and really starts to fuck. It’s not nice. Or gentle. It’s Dean, pounding into his brother. Ruthlessly. Hard enough that Sam will still be walking funny after they salt and burn their mystery ghost.

He bites Sam’s neck once he starts to lose his rhythm, jerking his hips erratically, only nailing Sam’s prostate by accident now. He makes sure to mark Sam good. Dean wants everyone to see that Sam’s taken.

It only takes another few thrusts, a few slaps of his balls against his brother’s until he spills as deep as he can push inside of Sam’s warm body. He turns his brother around and loosely starts fisting his cock. Sam pushes up eagerly into his hand, biting his lip to keep from moaning.

“Now Sammy. I’d like you tell these fine gentlemen to whom you belong, before I’ll let you come.”

“Dean. You. Only you. Only ever you.”

“Well. That was surprisingly easy. Even for you, Sam,” he taunts, working his hand faster. Giving Sam that extra twist at the top that he likes. He addresses their audience. “Sam’s mine and I don’t share. Questions anyone?”

It’s silent. Dead silent, except for Sam, whose head collides with a thud against the blue tile wall as he comes all over Dean’s hand and his own stomach.

“Great. Now that we’ve got that cleared up. Sam. I think you need another shower, buddy. Everyone else—show’s over.”

Sam turns back around, careful to not face Dean in his post-orgasm shame. “I fucking hate you, Dean. You’re such a jackass. Doing that to me in public.”

Dean shrugs. “You can put on your best bitch-face, but look me in the eye and tell me you weren’t goddamn grateful that it was me and not one of those guys fucking you.”

“Whatever. You totally owe me when we get out of here.”

“Mmm,” Dean hums as he steps underneath the warm spray. Damn. Prison’s got better water pressure than most of the joints they crash at. Plus, with Sam’s ass for the next few days, free food, and a ghost to kill. It might as well be a goddamn Winchester vacation.  



End file.
